Conneaut High School - Tattler Yearbook (Conneaut, OH)

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C. J. FREW, The Florist, State St, Phone 3 Florence nodded comprehendingly, and Gertrude hurried on. “I think you might have treated Florence Clavering a little more politely, Allison,” she said reprovingly. ‘‘She seems like a ratiher nice girl, after all.” “Nice!” retorted Allison, with a sneer. “Teacher’s pet. That's her style. I’d like to see her on horseback, though. A steady old horse about thirty years old, with an easy canter in place of a trot; best pace, about five miles an hour—that’s the sort of an animal she rides, or I miss my guess. Probablyl has a groom at her bridle rein when she’s at home, but that sort of thing won’t do at boarding school.” Gertrude made no reply and the two trudged on silently. The air was sultry. Great masses of clouds heaped themselves in the west, while the sun was scorching hot overhead. Allison was out of temper and her playing showed it. “Don’t you think you had better be a little bit more careful, Allison?” queried Gertrude. “You’ve broken two golf sticks already. “It’s too hot for golf today, anyway, growled Allison. This place is half a swamp—but listen! what’s that?” “Thunder,” replied her companion listlessly. “But it’s pretty distant, so let’s finish our game.” Allison tried again, and again broke a golf stick. “Well, I never—but look coming down the road. The new girl is (oming full tilt: must be her horse ihas bolted.” Allison stared at the on-coming rider, when—the horse was suddenly checked and a warning hand was flung up. “Get on to the higher land—quick!” cried Florence. “The dam is broken; I must warn the others. Horse and rider passed like a flash, galloping down the road. The two golfers sped up t)he hillside; they slipped on the wet grass and stumbled over stones, while the deep roar was steadily increasing in volume behind them. At last they gained the crest of the hill and stood looking down into the valley, that wa6 now filled with whirling water, in which trees, logs and wreckage were tossing to and fro.” “Do you think she—Florence, has esca] ed, Gertie?” queried Allison in constrained tones. “I don’t know,” curtly rejoined Gertrude as she went on, with Allison following in her wake, pensive and unusually quiet. It was a very uncomfortable pair that finally appeared at the academy. “O, Allison!” cried Gertrude, as they approached the piazza. “There’s Florence; she’s safe. How she must have ridden. I call her a brave girl.” “All she had to do was to stick on the horse,” replied Allison snappishly. “You needn’t be bothering me with heroics, I’m about used up.” So saying, she ran upstairs and slammed her door so hard that it resounded through the entire corridor. Gertrude lingered for a few moments on the piazza and then, she too, went to her room. Florence sat for a while replying politely to the congratulations of the girls, on her plucky ride and narrow escape; but when the excited girls

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irwiTfi “Who is that girl, Allison?” Gertrude Ward glanced curiously at the slight figure that sat at tihe farther end of the piazza, her hands clasped in her lap and her large, dark eyes gating out over the bright morning landscape. “She doesn’t look at all like our style; she’s so very proper that she’s almost prim.” “Prim, I should say she was,” replied Allison McKenzie, with emphasis, swinging a bundle or golf sticks over her shoulder. “That’s Florence Clavering. She came yesterday, but she’ll never do for Hillsdale Academy! She’s too dreadfully prim and precise. None of the girls will like her, I know.” “O, well! She’ll find iher own level somewhere,” returned Gertrude in careless good-ihumor. “Come on to the golf links; it’s hotter every minute.” The two girls strolled along, bareheaded and with sleeves rolled above their elbows. “Are you going golfing?” The two glanced up at the neatly dressed girl, who had risen from her chair and was now leaning over the piazza railing. Allison sauntered toward her. “Oh, no!” she drawled sarcastically. “Of course not. We just get our golf sticks and lug ’em around for the fun of it. What do you s’pose?” Florence’s cheek flushed, but after a moment she managed to say with a smile: “Served me right for asking such a foolish question. But won’t you find it rather muddy? I was going for a horseback ride along the river to the big reservoir, but Miss Webster says that the road is very so!t in some places and she advises me to keep to the hill road. It has rained a great deal lately and they say the engineer is watching the dam—if it breaks I’m afraid you won’t have much golfing this season.” “The dam’s all right,” replied Allison shortly. “Come along, Gertie.” She turned and strode away, but Gertrude lingered a moment. “Don’t mind Allison,” she said with a smile, “it’s only her way. Good-by!”

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THE TATTLER 4 had left, she rose and wently deliberately up to Allison McKenzie’s room, where she knocked and waited. “Who’s there?” came a muffled voice from within. “It’s Florence Clavering,” replied Florence pleasantly, whereupon the door flew open, showing Allison standing with disheveled hair and a tear- stained, sullen face. “I suppose,” she began abruptly, “that I ought to have thanked you for saving my life; but I was so upset—anl I’m all tired out anyway—but, of course,” she added stiffly, “I’m very much obliged to you—” she paused, still holding the door wide open. “Mayn’t I come in please, and see if 1 can’t make you more comfortable?” inquired Florence kindly; for Allison’s face and dress showed the marks of her hard scramble. “Yes, if you like,” returned Allison ungraciously, eyeing the trim little figure rather shamefacedly. “I was too tired to do anything but just dump myself on the bed,” she continued, with a trace of apology in her tones. Florence did not reply immediately, but gently combed out the matted hair. Finally she said, rather abruptly, “I learned to ride while I was a ery small girl. We all ride where I came from, but here, one very seldom sees anything but carriages and automobiles, and somehow—I don’t care for them.” “You didn’t seem to me like a girl that would ride horseback, but rather ” she caught herself up, but Florence finished the sentence for her. “Rather old fashioned? Well, yes, perhaps I am, but the girls here are so different that—well, I feel sort of out of things, you know.’’ There was a litle pause broken by Allison. “I’ve a horrid temper,” she said, suddenly, “and Florence, I’ve been mean to you, as mean as can be. But I feel miserable now; oh! can you ever forgive me?” “Why, Allison! I haven't anything to forgive,” said Florence, as she bent over the weeping girl. “Now stop crying and don’t think anything about it.” Just then, Gertrude appeared in the doorway but stopped in consternation, as she saw Florence. Soon, however, matters were explained and the three spent a pleasant evening together. As they were departing, Florence called back cheerily, “Good night, A'lison; remember the old adage,—‘All’s well that ends well.” MABELLE BROWN, ’14. THE SUFFRAGETTE IN A NEW ROLE. It was much the same kind of group that is found every day in the cars in any railroad train, a gathering of nearly every type of people that makes up our country. Perhaps, however, the assembly in the Pullman car, Maneval, was more mixed than usual on that November day. When the Trans-Continental Limited left New' York there were twelve occupants of the car besides the porter and conductor. Each person had boarded the